


Sempre Tutti

by LadyKnightSkye



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byleth doesn't choose any house, Canon Divergent, Comedy, Gen, Gratuitous Band Jokes, Major game spoilers, Strong Language, orchestra AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 07:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20206279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKnightSkye/pseuds/LadyKnightSkye
Summary: Sempre. - "always"Tutti. - "together*"The Garreg Mach Orchestra has always been a joke, but when Seteth makes Byleth Eisner the new director, she will stop at nothing to make them a respectable ensemble.Even if it means accidentally fermenting rebellion and bringing down the church to do it.





	1. Prelude for an FNG

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to everyone on the Fódlan Church of Thirst and Tears discord server! Somehow we got onto the subject of who would play what instrument, and it all went downhill from there. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *Edit: I have had a couple of wonderful commenters point out to me that in Italian, "tutti" is used to mean "everyone/everybody." The reason I used this term in the title of the work is because for English-speaking musicians, "tutti" is translated as "all" or "together." As an English-speaking musician myself, I've never seen it translated any other way. 
> 
> Per the lovely b43thov3n who explained it beautifully:
> 
> "may I shed some light, as a musician who speaks both? :')
> 
> as you well know, "tutti" generally appears to indicate the end of a solo section. it marks moving from solo (one player, "alone") to tutti (all players, "everyone" - the "together" is implied). "sempre tutti" in a musical context simply means that everyone is always playing together, so I would argue that "always together" is a perfectly adequate translation, if not one that requires a little background.
> 
> also "insieme" a) isn't really used in musical notation ..."
> 
> So if you are an Italian speaker, rest assured, this usage is purely as an extension of musical jargon, and not a slipshod attempt at Italian! I apologize if the title made you give me the side eye!

Seteth stared down at the schedule with a sigh. The schedule of classes for the year had already been finalized before Rhea’s impulsive decision make Byleth a professor. The house professors had been set, so she couldn’t take over the training of any one house. She had mentioned that she was not suited to intensive teaching of the Lance or Brawling, and that her magics were weak. Sword would be a good fit, but that would mean taking several classes from Catherine. Byleth had also expressed an interest in music, but like hell was Seteth taking Choir from Manuela.

  
Wait.

  
_Wait._

  
He sat back, his face transforming of a maniacal grin. “Yes. _Yes. YES!_“

  
From the other side of his office door, Rhea looked up from her conversation with a nun. Seteth was cackling with such evil sounding glee that she began to wonder if he was starting to have a mental breakdown.

* * *

Byleth examined her schedule with interest. “Basics of Sword Techniques, two blocks. Basic Field Tactics, two blocks. Woodland Tactics, two blocks. Hmm. History of Mercenary Activity, two blocks. . . . Orchestra?”

  
She looked up at her father. He was seated, perusing files on his new subordinates. He’d been made captain of the Knights of Seiros, and as such most of the professors were now under his command. Only Seteth and Rhea outranked him, and Hanneman and Manuela were not Knights proper. She was also technically not under his command, but by Fódlish convention she was his daughter so he still ranked above her in their familiar hierarchy. “I didn’t know that Garreg Mach had an orchestra.”

  
Jeralt chuckled. “Because we don’t generally advertise it. Of all school traditions, the orchestra is the one most students both love and dread. It’s always been mediocre at best.”

  
“So, Seteth’s giving me a crap assignment then?” she sighed.

  
“Probably,” Jeralt murmured. He gave her a fond look. “But I have faith in you. I barely was able to play the cello back when I did it, but you have your mother’s ability.”

  
Byleth looked up. Jeralt didn’t speak of her mother a lot. “She was musical?”

  
“She sang like an angel, and played the flute with so much skill that the Mitternich Opera Company begged her to be their principal flautist.” He stared off into the ether with a wistful expression. Byleth hoped one day she’d have a partner who would think of her with that same expression. “It’s why I never said no when you asked for a new instrument to play, and always found you at least one teacher. You know, I didn’t always want the mercenary life for you. I had kinda hoped you’d find a job with music instead of arms.”

  
She nodded, and bit her lip. “Teaching the orchestra is not outside of my abilities, and I would enjoy it, but . . .”

  
“Oh no, it’s Seteth fobbing off something on you,” Jeralt agreed with her unvoiced thought. “You’re the FNG, and the Officer’s Academy is still a military organization.”

  
Byleth gave a full body sigh. The dreaded FNG - fucking new guy. The greenhorn that would need to either be taught every little detail or rescued from some piece of their own stupidity, or some combination of both. If they were skilled before they came into an organization there was also the danger of them getting too big for their britches and trying to boss the old salts around. Byleth had been on the receiving end of that a time or two because of her age. “Well, it appears that he’s decided that I will be on the music department staff for the most part with Manuela. Out of forty hours of instruction, only eight of those are for anything that I was supposed to be on staff for. The other thirty-two are for orchestra rehearsals and private lessons.”

  
Jeralt snorted. “Well, the two of us are trapped here for the time being. At least he didn’t make you the head of something you hate.”

  
She nodded. “True.” She was tempted to ask about his feelings towards the Knights, but rose. “Well, I guess I should go to the music chambers and examine the scores. I supposed Manuela and Seteth could help me with my conducting.”

  
“Good luck, kid,” Jeralt said with a chuckle. “Good luck.”


	2. Requiem for Byleth's Sanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth meets the orchestra.
> 
> Goddess help her.

The next day was Byleth’s first meeting with the Garreg Mach orchestra. She’d spent the few days before it getting to know all the students, and spending far too much time with the Golden Deer for her sanity, but she was excited to see how they all faired as musicians. They all struck her as polite, lovely people and she -

  
Was not prepared for opening the door to the rehearsal chamber and walking right into a shouting match between Edelgard and Claude.

  
“You are Principal Violinist!” Edelgard was screaming from her perch on the risers, “Start acting like it!”

  
Hilda held up her bow between her index and middle fingers while Claude raised an unfamiliar instrument to his mouth and began to play a familiar tune. “ _A Careless Whisper?_“ she said aloud.

  
All eyes turned towards her. She had not had a list of which student played what, so her first look over the ensemble told her a lot. Thankfully, there wasn’t going to be a lot of factionalism. The three houses were more or less evenly distributed so she wasn’t going to face a strings versus woodwinds versus brass war. However, she had the feeling this was going to be worse. Felix was stuck in between Claude and Hilda, Sylvain was in the perfect position to annoy both Leonie and Ingrid with his flirting, and what in the name of the Goddess was Alois doing with a bassoon?

  
“Teach!” Claude cried, putting his instrument carefully down on the floor. He was giving her a huge shit-eating grin, and Byleth checked the need to sigh. Well, now she knew why Seteth had dropped this in her lap.

  
“Good afternoon, everyone.” She gave them a serene nod. “I am going to be the new orchestra director. I understand we have been rehearsing De Silva’s Adagietto in Eb?”

  
“Yes, Professor,” Edelgard replied. “Seteth gave it to us last week.”

  
“Good.” Byleth had not been familiar with Guillermo de Silva’s work, but as she had hummed her way through the score, she thought she had a good enough idea of how everything should sound. “Have you warmed up and tuned?”

  
Edelgard looked smug. “The trumpets have.”

  
Byleth looked up, and then looked around at the others. Claude picked up his strange instrument, and Felix was snarling. All of the woodwinds were looking at each other, but Linhardt was sleeping and Bernadetta had curled in on herself behind her stand. “That’s nice, but . . . everyone needs to be warmed up and tuned. Together.”

  
“Oh, _that’s_ never going to happen,” Lysithea snarked from her perch at the piano.

  
Byleth turned to her. “Why not?”

  
“I’d ask if you were new here,” Sylvain piped up, “But I already know that you are.”

  
Things just went downhill from there.

* * *

Jeralt was relaxing after a hard day’s training when the door to his office was yanked open, and his beloved daughter stomped in. “I take it that things didn’t go how you thought they would?”

  
She gave him a look and then plopped down into one of the chairs. “They’re all idiots.”

  
He chuckled. “Strong language, kid. Care to elaborate?”

  
“Claude insists that even though he - in _Seteth’s words no less_ \- is a brilliant violinist, that he must play a newly invented instrument he calls a ‘saxophone’ at all rehearsals. Edelgard is a good trumpeter, but she continually harangues the other players. Linhardt falls asleep in class, Bernadetta just _does not play_, and Alois is just randomly there.”

  
“From what I remember Alois was a fine bassoonist,” Jeralt murmured.

  
She rolled her eyes, an expression he had literally never seen from her. “Yes, but he’s sitting next to Hubert who insists on being a stoic bastard.”  
Jeralt chose not to make a comment about her, but let her continue to vent.

  
“Then, of course, I had to teach students - all of whom insisted that they had been playing their instruments for the requisite two years - how to properly tune their instruments. That took me nearly the whole rehearsal time because throughout it all Caspar and Leonie kept getting bored and starting a ‘Who Can Play Louder’ contest that would disrupt everything.” Byleth sighed, loudly.

  
“You ever think that they’re doing the patented, ‘Mess with the FNG’ shit?” Jeralt asked kindly.

  
She gave him a disgusted look. “Hey, you’re not just the FNG for Seteth and Company, you’re an unknown for them as well. They’ve been here for a year already in the junior class, and they’ve already gotten to know their professors. Now they’re in the senior class, sorted into their houses, and here comes this new professor that they’ve never seen before.”

  
“Respectfully, Papa, I would consider that if it weren’t for the fact that I had to explain to Sylvain how to tongue properly. And you can bet your ass he made that explanation a suggestive, living hell.”

  
Jeralt laughed. “Well, in that case.”

  
“Was it like it when you were here?” she asked.

  
He shook his head. “No. We were on the mediocre end of things. Probably not much better than some village bands, but we could at least muddle our way through De Silva’s Adagietto without problems.”

  
“We didn’t even play the first measure,” she huffed.

  
“Well, maybe things will settle down and get better,” Jeralt said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is at this point that I begin to draw on my history as a musician and a teacher to share . . . shenanigans.
> 
> I hope you guys are still having a good time too~!


	3. Infodump in B Minor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth examines the strengths and weaknesses of her ensemble.

For the next three days, Byleth taught private lessons. It was exhausting and frequently frustrating. She saw the Golden Deer first. Claude brought his violin, and was just as good as Seteth said. Hilda came next, and while not as good as Claude, she had more than enough skill to keep up. Ignatz was her lone violist, and he had some technical weaknesses, but for the most part was where he needed to be in order to play the Adagietto. Marianne was incredibly shy to the point that half of the her hour long lesson was just spent getting her to play one note. Lorenz was also very good on the French Horn, while Leonie had a lot of enthusiasm if not skill on the bass trombone. Raphael, to her astonishment quite frankly, was absolutely flawless with all manner of percussion instruments. Lysithea was also quite good on piano, but her playing was clinical, detached - technically she was good, but the music had no emotional impact whatsoever.

  
The Blue Lions came next. Felix was also very good on violin, and had expressed a desire to challenge Claude for principal violinist. Dedue was able to play the entire Adagietto already, and from memory. Mercedes was a fine flautist, and had also prepared several solos for Byleth’s consideration. Annette was just as good on clarinet, though her altissimo register was often uncontrolled and weak. Ingrid was weak towards the higher edge and lower edges of her trumpet’s range, but admitted that she had not practiced very recently. Ashe had intonation issues from the Throat and back, but he had eagerness to balance it out. Dimitri proved to be a passable trombonist, and like Dedue already knew his part very well. Sylvain admitted that he’d picked the trombone because another student had told him he would pick up chicks, and in keeping with that only knew the very basics of what to do.

  
The Black Eagles came last. Ferdinand had caused her to smile with a rendition of Machteld Ramirez’s _Night Wild Variations_ but admitted that he hadn’t even looked at the Adagietto. Linhardt shrugged when she asked him to play his part. Bernadetta was a repeat of Marianne, but even better because she only played the last five minutes of the lesson. Hubert was proficient on the bassoon, but admitted that he would rather not be playing the instrument and had only acquiesced because Edelgard told him to. Edelgard herself was very good, but had the stereotypical trumpeter’s arrogance on display. Caspar had more enthusiasm than skill and even admitted that most of the time he just picked a few pitches and played what sounded good because he couldn’t actually read the music. Petra played by ear too because Brigidian music was written in a completely different notational system.

  
Flayn - not a part of any house - had come that day too, and she was pure perfection on the oboe. Alois also insisted on a lesson.

  
“But . . . Sir Alois . . . you’ve been playing bassoon since before I was born,” Byleth pointed out.

  
His laugh was jolly. “You never stop learning!”

  
She just sat back and let him go. For an entire hour she was his captive audience, right down to the insufferable dad jokes.

  
She was also teaching all of them in regular academic classes, and couldn’t help but hope that the second rehearsal would be more like those classes. They were courteous, hard working students, and she saw no reason why that couldn’t translate to the orchestra. However, she was soon disappointed.

  
“So, have we warmed up and tuned?” she asked at the next rehearsal.

  
“No, Professor Byleth, we have not,” Edelgard said while glaring at Claude.

  
He just shrugged and picked up his saxophone. He played a few notes, and then launched into _A Careless Whisper_. “Claude, please.”

  
He stopped, grinned, and then pulled up the Adagietto. “Do you all mean to tell me that Seteth never warmed you up and tuned?”

  
“Well,” Dimitri piped up, “He tried.”

  
“Explain.”

  
Alois sighed. “To be perfectly honest, this is the best behaved I’ve seen them in the year this bunch has been together.”

  
Caspar chose that moment to honk as loudly as he could on the tuba. Ashe snorted a laugh while Edelgard turned and began to dress down her housemate. Sylvain turned to face the percussion, and made eyes at Petra. As Byleth tried, unsuccessfully, to get Edelgard’s attention, Claude started playing _A Careless Whisper_. Again.

  
By the end of the two hour rehearsal, they’d accomplished next to nothing. Again. Byleth was also mystified as to why it seemed like they were model students until you put an instrument in their hands. It was like some strange switch was thrown in their minds as soon as it happened. She even consulted Manuela about their performance in the choir, and the older woman had beamed. “Simply wonderful, all of them!”

* * *

Jeralt examined his daughter with a gimlet stare. She was sipping her tea, a look of despair painted across her face. “Still fuming about rehearsal?”

  
“Manuela has no problem with them in Choir. I have no problem with them in any other class. Just orchestra.” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand it.”

  
“Well, when I was in orchestra, it was actually kind of relaxing,” he said as he returned to polishing his blade. “There was no pressure. We played for the parents, of course, and for the archbishop, but it wasn’t like our other classes. Plus, I wouldn’t take Manuela’s word for much. She has no expectations of them past that they don’t disrupt her rehearsals. I think the last time I heard the senior house members sing it was actually only five of them doing anything.”

  
“What do you mean, it wasn’t like your other classes?” Byleth asked.

  
He shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t something we ever thought we were going to use out on the battlefield. While it was nice, no one was going to die if we didn’t learn our parts correctly.”  
She pursed her lips. “That doesn’t help me very much, Father.”

  
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think anyone has ever taken the orchestra seriously. It’s more for show than anything.” He gave her a look. It was calculating. Piercing. She recognized it because it was one she got when she was formulating a plan. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t change it.”

  
Byleth leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

  
“What is playing in an ensemble good for?”

  
“Teamwork,” she answered, “Developing bonds.”

  
“Okay,” Jeralt said, “What is instrumental playing good for?”

  
“Discipline. Motor skills . . . things that can be . . .” She stopped, and looked to her father. The two mercenary captains shared a long look. “Do you think any of the other professors will back me?”

  
“Probably not,” Jeralt said. “Remember, orchestra has always been about relaxing. You’re going to have to change the entire culture of the Academy to do it.”

  
“Then I shall simply have to prove why it’s important to them,” Byleth replied.

  
Jeralt grinned. “Our professors respect strength and skill. In two weeks there’s going to be a mock battle. It’s supposed to be amongst the three houses, but I think we can convince Rhea to add a new wrinkle. Think you can hold on for that long?”

  
Byleth sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s going to be hard, but I can manage.” A sly look entered her eyes. “Do you think some of the other professors would mind tutoring me?”

  
“I don’t see why not,” he answered. “Why?”

  
She grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . . So I've decided on a couple of pairings. :)
> 
> Also, a lot of these observations are literally things that I've observed from students in my own band classes. 
> 
> . . . Have I mentioned that I'm a band teacher? I . . . I feel for Byleth. I have literally been there. So mini lesson:
> 
> Altissimo register - the highest notes that a clarinet can play. Pretty difficult because this register is basically just controlled squeaking.
> 
> Range - the compliment of pitches an instrument can play.
> 
> Intonation - pitch accuracy and sound quality.


	4. Scherzo for a Golden Buck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude discovers how sneaky Byleth can be.

“Good morning,” Byleth said to her first student of the day, Claude.

  
The young man slid into his seat with a practiced grin. Lately, as she got to know the students more, Byleth realized that many of them had that same expression. It didn’t quite reach their eyes. “Morning, Teach.”

  
“So, I would like to hear your part from measure fourteen,” she began.

  
He played his part beautifully, and all she had to correct was his articulations and some bowing. However, he noticed that she had a far-off look in her eyes. “What’s wrong Teach?”

  
She shook her head, giving him a small smile. “Nothing, why?”

  
“You looked sad,” he said, before a sly grin graced his lips. He reached into his coat, and pulled out a thin box. “I’ve only got two on me, but there’s a whole stack back in my room.”

  
Byleth was opening her mouth, half horrified because she could just imagine what contraband a seventeen year old boy could pull out of his jacket, when he opened the box with a flourish.

  
Two romance novels.

  
“I’ve got the latest from Juliet Bertrice and Loretta Chester,” he said with a self-satisfied smile.

  
She blinked rapidly in confusion. “Claude,” she said, “Why do you have romance novels tucked inside your jacket?”

  
He shrugged. “Seteth confiscates them where he finds them. I think it has something to do with not,” - and this is where he affected Seteth’s supercilious tones - “sullying Flayn’s innocent soul with such drivel.” He went back to his usual voice. “Or something like that.”

  
“So you hoard them and dole them out? In exchange for what?”

  
He shrugged again. “Information. Gossip. But for you, this is free. You looked kinda down, and I know all the girls love a good romance novel. Even Leonie and Lysithea.”

  
“That’s kind of you,” she said. For a moment she debated whether or not to take one, but ultimately decided to at least look. They were both bound with cheap stiffened leather, but when she opened them they had beautiful illustrations on their first pages. The book by Juliet Bertrice looked promising - it was about a village girl who got swept away by a handsome Faerghish lord - but she took one look at the one by Loretta Chester and nearly threw it back in the box.

  
“That bad, hunh?” Claude said, “I mean, Leonie returned it because she said it was too good not to share, but I wasn’t aware her taste was that bad.”

  
Byleth grimaced. “Look at the picture of the hero on the front page.”

  
Claude did, and his eyes bugging out when he also read the synopsis. “A . . . mercenary captain falls in love with a girl he’s training . . .” There was a snorting sound from deep in his throat, and then he was laughing so hard he was doubled over in his seat.

  
She couldn’t help joining him, her giggles shaking her from head to toe. Claude took a deep, gasping breath and nearly shouted, “He looks just like your dad!”

  
“Do you . . . you don’t think Leonie has a crush on my father do you?” Byleth finally asked once their laughter had calmed down.

  
“She just might,” Claude answered, his smile genuine. “But let’s not say anything, eh?”

  
“Gods no,” Byleth replied. “She might be a bit much at times, but I don’t want to embarrass her.”

  
“So, you’re taking the Juliet Bertrice?” he asked with a grin.

  
“Claude, you know that I must report this to Seteth,” she said gently.

  
The young man froze. “Aw, come on Teach! Don’t do this to me!” His eyes turned pleading.

  
She picked up the book in question. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll promise not to tell Seteth about your little black market, _but_ you must promise to stop playing_ A Careless Whisper_ during rehearsal.”

  
Beautiful green eyes narrowed. “Well played, Teach. Well played.”

  
Byleth shrugged, picking up the Bertrice novel. “Lesson number one in being a mercenary captain - always be three steps ahead of your opponent.”

  
His eyes turned appraising. “Alright, deal.”

  
“Good,” Byleth replied. “Now, in exchange for the novel, I’ll give you a heads up about the mock battle at the end of the month as soon as I learn something.”

  
Claude grinned. “Deal.”

* * *

Claude strode into the Golden Deer’s common room with his violin case slung over his shoulder. He was surprised to find Hilda there, sipping on tea. She looked up from the book she was reading - another trashy romance novel he’d saved from the garbage bin - and smiled. “How was your lesson?”

  
“Interesting,” he replied. “Why aren’t you at yours?”

  
“I tendered Professor Byleth my apologies,” she said primly. “I am currently indisposed.”

  
He rolled his eyes as he sat across from her. She pulled the extra cup and saucer off of the service, and elegantly poured the tea. Hilda was lazy by nature, afraid of having too much expected of her. It was an odd over-reaction to her wanting to please her family, but Claude didn’t press the point. The young woman often found herself helping out enthusiastically when she wasn’t paying attention to herself enough to be afraid, and she was a fantastic delegator. “Thank you.”

  
She sat back and smiled. “Of course.” They sipped their tea in companionable silence.

  
“Byleth is going to be an interesting wrinkle,” Claude finally mused aloud.

  
“How so?”

  
“She’s clever, and so far doesn’t have any particularly exploitable weakness,” he answered. “She’s smarter than Alois, not obsessive like Hanneman or Catherine. She doesn’t have Manuela’s pride or Seteth’s moral code or Rhea’s piety. She got one over on me.”

  
Hilda cocked a brow. “She managed to outsmart you? How?”

  
He told her, explaining how she’d managed to use his own tender heart against him. Hilda had a self-satisfied smirk writ large on her face, but he took no offense. It was something they both teased each other about. Hilda and he were very similar in certain respects. “So, what do we do?” Hilda said, “Your whole scheme was to use the professors as practice for your eventual future as the head shepherd of the Alliance.”  
He tapped his mouth, eyeing his tea. “We ally with her.”'

  
Hilda stopped mid-motion. She set down her tea cup and gave Claude a dangerous smile. “What?”

  
“We ally with her. It will be valuable to have someone like her on our side.” He gave her a sideways look. “And don’t give me that jealous glare.” He leaned over the table, giving her a small kiss on the cheek.

  
“The last time you talked to me of allies was when you invited me on our first date,” she muttered by way of explanation.

  
“Don’t worry, Teach is beautiful, but for now I’m all yours,” he said with a roguish smile.

  
Hilda eyed him suspiciously, but a grin wreathed her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be real, Byleth would have never told Seteth, but hey, Claude doesn't know that. :)


	5. Requiem for a Wyvern Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth is terrified . . . maybe a little horny, but mostly terrified.
> 
> Major spoilers for the game ahead.

“Faaaaaaatheeeeeeer.”

  
Jeralt looked up just in time to see Byleth flop completely over the back of the sofa in his office and gracelessly land on her face in the overstuffed cushions. He chuckled at the utter ridiculousness of his daughter. “Daughter.”

  
She peeked up from her seat. “Do I have to teach today?”

  
“Yes,” he said gently, “you have to teach today.” He gave her a stern look. “What’s got you in such a tizzy?”

  
She sighed. “I just . . . I don’t know if I can take much more of this before the mock battle. I know we have our strategy but . . .”

  
“Don’t worry, my child,” Jeralt said kindly. “We have a faculty meeting this afternoon. We’ll get your proposition settled, and then we’ll begin planning for the battle.”

* * *

Seteth had been enjoying the last week. He’d not had to deal with the orchestra, Flayn had stayed away from that Sylvain like he’d asked repeatedly, and Rhea had given him a glowing review on his proposal for setting up another satellite church in Faerghus. The only fly in his ointment had been Jeralt and Byleth Eisner.

  
Seteth did not trust easily. His experiences in life had taught him that humans were a breed to be wary of, and especially those for whom the blade was a way of life. He only trusted the Knights of Seiros because they were thoroughly in Rhea’s power, and she would sooner slaughter them then let anything happen to Flayn and Seteth. The children of the goddess were few and far between, and she would prioritize them over any knights. While he found needless death distasteful, he would do anything to protect Flayn. In the dark days after Zanado she had been the light that kept him going. She was more than his daughter. She was his reason to live.

  
So, it didn’t sit well with him to have two mercenaries suddenly show up in his home, working their way into Rhea’s inner circle. Jeralt, he could tolerate. The man was actually a known entity, a former captain of their order, ridiculously skilled and strong, and once upon a time, completely loyal to the goddess. What did not sit well with Seteth was the fact that the other man was pushing eighty and looked not a day over fifty. The other time someone had lived for longer than he should . . . He’d been drinking the blood of manaketes.

  
As for his daughter . . . She was a true unknown. It boggled his mind, though, that the others wondered if she was Jeralt’s child. Could no one see that she had his eyes? That was what actually disconcerted him the most. Both of them had eyes that saw more than they should, and for his safety and the safety of his daughter, Seteth was not happy about that. He’d not been able to sus out her personality yet, seeing as he’d only managed one conversation with her since she’d arrived, but it was infuriating how good she was at hiding her inner world from him. He’d managed to peg almost every person in Garreg Mach the moment they stepped foot into the monastery. It was how he knew that Edelgard bore watching, that Dimitri was not as stable as he looked, and that Claude was not as untrustworthy as he acted. It was how he knew how to push and pull everyone as need be. Admittedly, he was blind to Flayn, but she had lived long enough to fool him, and he also admitted, he went stupid when his daughter was involved.

  
Look, he was one thousand, three hundred and thirty-two years old, and living that long left one with certain . . . Quirks.

  
All of this was coming to a head, of course, at the monthly faculty meeting. They were in the cardinals’ room, seated at the long table. Rhea was at the head, and he was at her right hand. All of the professors were present, along with Jeralt. “We will host the first mock battle to assess our students’ strengths and weaknesses in one week’s time,” Rhea said. “Manuela, Alois, Hanneman, please make sure your students are ready.”

  
“Lady Rhea,” rang the voice of the very maiden Seteth had been pondering, “I wish to address something.”

  
“Yes, Byleth?” The archbishop replied kindly.

  
“I have been having issues dealing with the orchestra. I was wondering -“

  
Catherine had already muttered, “Here we go,” before she could even finish.

  
Byleth pursed her lips and continued. “I was wondering if there was any way that I could have help encouraging the students to behave and treat it seriously.”

  
Manuela snorted, but said, not unkindly, “My dear, these children are here to learn to fight, not perform. Orchestra is meant as an added polish, nothing more.”

  
“Yes,” Hanneman agreed. “We are not a performance arts academy. Let them blow off some steam and have fun.”

  
The young woman’s thin lips grew even thinner. “Be that as it may, I was under the impression that we were to produce the best students we can -“

  
“Yeah,” Catherine piped up, “Of war, not woodwinds.”

  
Alois shook his head. “Best not to try to change things. Especially your first year.”

  
Seteth grimaced, remembering how he’d tried this same tack when Rhea had first had him take over the ensemble. The previous professors had been just as dismissive. He did not rise to defend her, knowing that it was a losing battle. Rhea was the one to deliver the killing blow. “We will continue as we have before. It is up to you to deal with them within the bounds of your office.”

  
For the first time, Seteth saw emotion sweep across the young woman’s face. Determination and anger transformed her placid face into a mask of killing fury. “So I’m supposed to sit back and allow them to treat orchestra as their free period, yes?”

  
“If you must consider it such then yes.” Rhea was impassive. She’d only added the orchestra program a century before to please snooty nobles. She had no particular care for music. It had only been included in the liturgy because Seteth, Flayn, and Indech had insisted on it.

  
Byleth stood, and Seteth tensed. He saw Catherine and Jeritza also go taut. The young woman’s eyes went to her father, and he nodded. “Then please allow me and my father to . . . Add polish to the mock battle. If you insist that my one function is as a musician, then let me exercise it.”

  
Rhea frowned, as did everyone else at the table. “What do you have in mind?”

  
Byleth frowned, but the expression was practiced, coy. “My father insisted that the mercenaries in our band also learn instruments with me. Many of my former teachers are part of our mercenary company as well. Let us provide an accompaniment to the battle. If anything, it will also test the students under pressure and in odd circumstances.”

  
Jeritza was another who bore watching, as he never took off his mask, but everyone could see his nonplussed expression. Catherine and Alois just had utterly confused faces. Hanneman and Manuela were sharing a look that asked about the sanity of the speaker. Even Rhea blinked rapidly, her mouth slightly open. “Alright,” she finally said.

  
Seteth rounded on her. “My lady?”

  
“Music . . . It couldn’t hurt.” Rhea blinked a few more times with owlishly round eyes.

  
“Are you daft?!” He couldn’t help but snap. “Music? _At a mock battle_?“

  
“What, Seteth,” Byleth asked poisonously, “_you don’t like music_?”

  
That was when he knew, knew without a single doubt that given half the chance, this woman would end him. Not because he was a manakete, not because she desired his power or his blood, but because she_ knew_. She knew he was the one who had handed her the worst job in the monastery, the one who had consigned her to a hell peopled with overly excitable trombonists and that one kid that always played Cyprus’s _Megalovania_ ad nauseum because it was ridiculously easy on the marimba. She knew it, and she hated him for it, and he had no one to blame but himself. Goddess help him.

  
Rhea, apparently oblivious to the tension between them, just smiled. “It is alright. We will allow Byleth this. Jeralt will be there overseeing the battle as well. All will be well, Seteth.”

  
Yeah, he thought with a grimace, that wasn’t very comforting at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the Fire Emblem wiki, they're called light dragons, but I decided to refer to them as manaketes just because I think more Fire Emblem stans are used to that term.


	6. Allegro, Molto Violent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri gets run over by a horse named Byleth.

Dimitri glanced around the battlefield, somewhat mystified. He knew that Edelgard and Claude had to be feeling much the same way. At the last minute, Rhea and the other professors had decided to observe the battle, on top of Professor Byleth deciding to perform for them with a small ensemble of no more than six. They were in the middle of the field, and had said that they would move when the battle began. Each house was fielding their seven best, and he knew that Dedue, Felix, Sylvain, Mercedes, Ashe, and Annette had his back. Claude had brought in his usual cohorts Hilda, Lorenz, Ignatz, Raphael, Marianne, and Leonie. At Edelgard’s back stood Hubert, Dorothea, Ferdinand, Bernadetta, Petra, and Caspar. Manuela, Alois, and Hanneman were also on the field with their houses.

  
“Black Eagles, are you ready?” Jeralt bellowed.

  
“Aye!” Edelgard called.

  
“Blue Lions, are you ready?”

  
“Aye!” Dimitri bellowed.

  
“Golden Deer, are you ready?”

  
“Aye, aye captain!” Claude yodeled.

  
Dimitri rolled his eyes and knew that Edel was probably doing the same thing across the field.

  
“Byleth, are you ready!”

  
“Wait, why’s he calling to her?” Sylvain asked.

  
“Aye!”

  
“BEGIN!” Jeralt roared.

  
Dimitri never really got a chance to lead. Just as the three squads began moving, so too did Byleth’s ensemble. No one had batted an eye at them coming onto the battle field with training weapons, and the one mage was an expert in non-lethal spells. The Black Eagles fell first, their position too close to the center of the field. He and the Blue Lions had booked it as quickly as they could across the field, but by the time they’d made it to the center, Byleth’s squad had decimated the Black Eagles. The Golden Deer fell quickly as well, though it looked like Claude at least made a good show of rallying his forces. They lasted a little longer than the Eagles, at least. When Byleth turned to them, he saw that while she and her group had taken down sixteen opponents, they’d not lost one of their own.

  
“Sylvain, take the flank, Felix -“

  
He didn’t finish, his lance parrying Byleth’s blow. The woman hit like a destrier at full gallop, and that was saying something coming from him. His crest allowed extra strength, but _damn_. He didn’t fully grasp that she had won until he heard Jeralt’s bellow. “HOLD.”

  
“_What is the meaning of this?_“ came another feminine shriek. With a groan, he realized that he was laying on the ground. His field of view was just the sky until Claude and Edelgard popped into his view.

  
“Dimitri,” Edelgard asked softly, “Are you alright?”

  
“She ran you over,” Claude said with amazement. He reached out, and Dimitri gladly took the proffered hand. “Come on, let’s get you up. I’d say to take you to Manuela, but she’s still unsteady.”

  
“What happened?” Dimitri asked dazedly. He know what happened, but somehow it hadn’t completely registered.

  
“Our orchestra teacher kicked our collective asses,” hissed Felix. He was holding his arm gingerly, while Mercedes performed a healing spell. She had a bruise forming on one cheek.

  
All of the students looked up to see Rhea striding forward, and Byleth standing with her training sword point down in the grass. She was resting with hands folded on the pommel, her feet planted. She looked strong and confident, especially since her face was completely impassive. It was as if she utterly destroyed twenty-four odd excellent warriors every day. Which, he realized, she probably did. However, Rhea looked fierce, and he’d never seen the archbishop so pissed in his life.

  
“I asked you a question,” the older woman hissed to the younger.

  
“You refused to listen to me, so I decided to prove a point,” she answered calmly. “You invited me here to do a job, and then promptly began to undermine my ability to do that job. If you do not wish to support me and provide me with the ability to effectively to my job, then my father and I will be leaving.”

  
“You cannot.” Rhea’s eyes were blazing with green fire. “Neither of you.”

  
Byleth cocked her head. “Really?”

  
That was when the rattle of armor and jingle of tack became obvious. Dimitri’s eyes widened when he realized that Rhea and her entourage as well as the students had been neatly surrounded by Jeralt’s mercenaries. “You dare raise your blade against the church?” Catherine barked.

  
“No,” Jeralt said. “My men have only come to watch the festivities. It’s not often their captains get to show off their merit.”

  
However, every person there understood the subtle threat inherent in the situation. “So, you will attack if I refuse your unreasonable demands?”

  
“Unreasonable? I’m wounded, Archbishop. Did I not just show you how important instrumental ensemble playing is?” Byleth said with a smile.

“There is much I can teach your students if only I _had your support to run the orchestra as I see fit_.”

  
A charged moment passed, but Rhea finally nodded. “You officially have my permission to do as you will in order to run an effective orchestra.”\

  
“My thanks,” Byleth said.

* * *

Dimitri was still nursing a headache that night. Manuela and Mercedes suspected that he had a mild concussion, but they’d made the mistake of mentioning it in front of Claude. One thing led to another, and somehow he’d ended up with every male Blue Lion, Golden Deer, and - inexplicably - Black Eagle in his room. They were passing around a flash of whiskey, each young man taking a shot before handing it over. Dedue pointedly wouldn’t let him have any.

  
“So, who else is utterly scared and horny when they think about our Professor Eisner?” Sylvain piped up.

  
Ignatz’s eyes went wide. “Did you see what she did to Raphael?”

  
Claude snorted. “Did you see what she did to Dimitri?”

  
All eyes turned to him. “I still don’t remember how I got on the ground.”

  
“She went under your guard and hit you in the head with the flat of her blade,” Felix growled. However, his eyes were bright and interested. “She is . . . Fascinating.”

  
“Don’t tell me big bag Felix Fraldarius has a crush?” Sylvain sing-songed. Felix answered with a dirty look.

  
“What I don’t understand,” Hubert began, “is how she was able to make Archbishop Rhea back down.”

  
Ferdinand nodded. “It does seem odd that she would be able to wield such power over the archbishop.”

  
“That is strange,” Lorenz agreed with a nod to his fellow fashion forward noble. “What could be so valuable about her that Rhea refuses to let her and her father leave?”

  
“Well, they’re part of the church aren’t they?” Ignatz put forward weakly.

  
“Yes, but even so,” Dimitri put in, “people leave the Church’s service all the time. No matter how skilled they are, they are still just mercenaries.”

  
“I think we can all agree that Teach isn’t just a mercenary,” Claude finally said with an uncharacteristic tone of authority in his voice. “Jeralt wasn’t too pleased to be coming back here, and he apparently raised her completely outside of the Church.” He let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “Looks to me that he didn’t _want_ her to be involved with the Church.”

  
“That is the epitome of odd,” Linhardt finally piped up. “The Church is ubiquitous in the land. To completely avoid it would take actual effort.”

  
“Yeah, there’s no way it wasn’t intentional,” Sylvain agreed. “She also barely knows anything about Crests, and according to her has spent significant time in the Kingdom.”

  
Claude met Dimitri’s eyes, and then nodded to Hubert, knowing that he would pass this on to Edelgard. “We might need to figure this out. Teach . . . She could be a threat. I’d hate to think like that, and would much rather call her ally, but you all saw her out there today. She’s a beast.”

  
Hubert nodded. “One that Rhea wants leashed for some reason.”

  
“We will keep up our guard,” Dimitri agreed finally swiping the flask so he could take a sip. “We will keep up our guard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been churning out this fic like nobody's business, but it's a busy time of year for me, so I can't promise I can keep up the posting every day. I've got some buffer, but life's crazy, you know?
> 
> <strike>And I may have invented an OTP in Jeralt/Sothis, my God what have I done?</strike>
> 
> Edit: Forgot the chapter title!


	7. Sassy Pants Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flayn is asking the hard questions.

Byleth paused, aware that she was no longer alone in her office. “So,” said the voice that she was rapidly getting used to, “You and your father succeeded.”

  
“Seems so,” she whispered. It was odd, talking to a girl only she could see, but Sothis was rapidly becoming a welcome conversational companion.

  
“What are you going to do now?” She floated up to Byleth’s desk. “Now that Rhea has seen fit to allow you free rein?”

  
“Well first, we have to work out the kinks,” Byleth answered. “Claude is mostly under control now that I’ve forbidden him from playing _A Careless Whisper_, but it’s only a matter of time before he finds something else to keep himself occupied. I’m more worried now about Edelgard. She seems to be under the impression that it is her job to monitor everyone else’s behavior.”

  
“Hmm,” Sothis murmured. “You are being given free rein to do as you see fit. And all of the professors have to help you . . . do you know the spell, Silence?”

  
“That’s a mid-level light spell,” Byleth replied. “And it only works on . . . .” Then her eyebrows rose. “All of the Black Eagles have mage training. Do you think I could . . .”

  
“Silence the hell out of Edelgard von Sassy Pants?” Sothis said with a smile.

  
“Silence the hell out of Edelgard von Sassy Pants,” Byleth agreed.

  
“Daughter?”

  
Her head whipped around, and she gave her father a small smile. “Yes, Papa?”

  
He frowned and passed right by the spot where Sothis floated. The green haired girl sighed. “You are so dreamy.”

  
Byleth had to fight to keep her face completely straight. This was not what she had signed on for at all. The first couple of times Sothis had spoken, the girl had kept to subjects that at least Byleth could understand and follow. Now, however, the girl had decided that she was quite smitten with Jeralt, and the young woman had no idea how to process the fact that the strange, otherworldly Sothis felt very earthly infatuation. Fortunately, it looked like she had managed to fool her father for the time being, as Jeralt took a seat across from her desk. “I didn’t think we’d pull it off, but it looks like you were right about Rhea.”

  
She nodded, thinking back to the truths her father had chosen to reveal to her about the circumstances surrounding their original flight from the monastery. She wished he’d told her before now, just so that they could have avoided this whole mess in the first place, but there was no help for it now. “She was too . . . excited to see me. She had to have done something or she needs something from me.”

  
He shook his head. “Well, we’re stuck here for now. But we have to be careful. Rhea will give us leeway this one time, but we’ve made enemies. Alois is none too happy with me, but the ones to watch out for Catherine and Gilbert. They’re devoted followers of the Church, and won’t hesitate to go against an order if they believe it is the will of the divine.”

  
“What about Jeritza, Seteth, and the others?” she pushed, trying desperately to ignore Sothis. The strange girl was floating above her father’s head, giving him longing looks.

  
“I don’t know about Jeritza, but Hanneman and Manuela are not blindly devoted to the goddess. Seteth . . . I think as long as we do not threaten his sister he will leave us be. I’ve spoken to some of the knights. He is devoted to the goddess, but not to an extreme. He will try to push us out, but violence for him would be an absolute last resort.”

  
She nodded. Sothis reached out and cupped his cheek. He jerked, and both women shared a look of surprise. “Something just touched me,” Jeralt muttered, caressing the skin Sothis had just touched.

  
“There’s nothing here,” Byleth said inanely. Sothis rolled her eyes, but was observing Jeralt intently.

  
His eyes narrowed on her. “True.”

  
“What’s our next step?” she pressed, hoping to steer him back to their discussion.

  
“We need to figure out what Rhea wants from us,” her father answered. “Until then, we tread carefully.”

* * *

Seteth nursed his wine with pursed lips and a serious decision on his hands. Rhea was livid, but when he tried to speak to her, she utterly refused to explain to him just why the Eisners were so important to her. The only clue he’d been able to glean was Rhea’s snapped, “Everything!”

  
“What has you in such a tizzy?”

  
He looked up at his beloved daughter. Flayn had needlework spread across her lap, and was giving him a beatific expression. She had her hair pulled back, showing her pointed ears. She was safe to do so here in their rooms, safe from prying eyes. “Rhea is terribly attached to the Eisners and I begin to wonder . . .”

  
“If she’s bat shit crazy?”

  
He spewed the wine he’d just sipped. “Cethleann Brigid Gricenchos!”

  
She just gave him a droll look. “Father, I’m literally a thousand years old. I think I’m old enough to use profanity.”

  
“Never,” he muttered angrily. “But to answer your indelicate question, yes, I wonder if she is losing her grip on reality. She’s never been the same since . . .”

  
“Since Zanado,” Flayn finished. She shuddered, and unwillingly, Seteth was drawn back to the massacre. He remembered running, his wife’s blood covering his face and body as his precious baby girl cried and screamed into his chest. He remembered Indech and Macuil frantically covering him, trying to protect their youngest brother and his precious child. The children of the goddess, the manaketes, bred slowly so every child was precious. Little Cethleann - Flayn - had been the first child born to their village in a century, and Seteth had been stupidly young when he and his wife had her. Seiros had found them not long after, and revenge had become her number one concern from then forward.

  
“We must figure this out, Flayn,” he murmured softly.

  
She smiled sadly. “We will, Father. We will.” She turned back to her needlework. “So, what do you think of Professor Eisner? I quite like her.”

  
What did he think of her? Seteth took another sip of his wine. It was on the tip of his tongue to say terrifying, but he stopped himself. She was terrifying because she was an unknown, but if he looked at her differently, she was utterly fascinating. She was bright, clever, and resourceful in a way that he hadn’t seen in centuries. Rhea had grown complacent with her power, used to the bowing and scraping the people of Fodlan had lavished on her for centuries. In a period of just under three weeks, one young woman and her wily father had managed to pull one over on the most powerful of the surviving manaketes. Not only that, but she’d also managed to defeat an entire class of the best warriors in Fodlan. Byleth Eisner’s competence was impressive.

  
He didn’t realize that he’d been musing out loud until Flayn piped up, “Just like her rack.”

  
More wine sprayed across the very expensive rug on the floor. “_Cethleann Brigid Gricenchos_!“ Seteth bellowed.

  
She shrugged and made a lewd gesture in front of her chest. “Was I not using the term correctly?”

  
“You should not be discussing a woman’s breasts in such a vulgar fashion! Where did you even learn that term?!”

  
If she were truthful, she learned it from Sylvain, but she decided that her father was already unduly prejudiced against the young Faerghish lord. So, she went with a half truth. “From Caspar and Ashe. They were discussing Professor Eisner’s figure.” They’d been discussing it with Sylvain, but Seteth didn’t need to know.

  
His face took on a thunderous cast. “I guess I know who gets latrine duty when we go to Gronder Field.”

  
“You never answered my question. Was I not using the term correctly?”

  
If Seteth had had any common damn sense around his daughter, if he’d only been able to truly notice the sly look in the girl’s eye, he would have never answered her question. As it was, he was a goddess damned idiot. “Yes, you were using the term correctly.”

  
“And was what I said untrue?”

  
Again, the lack of common sense and ability to see the calculation in her gaze would have saved him later, but he replied, “No, it’s not untrue.”

  
And now it was stuck in his head. The thought of Byleth Eisner’s bust, and the fact that not only was she scarily competent in getting what she wanted, she was beautiful too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm glad everyone is loving this, and for those of you wondering about my last comment from the last set of author's notes, the answer is SORCERY AND SHENANIGANS. Lots and lots of shenanigans. I haven't even begun to shananigate yet.
> 
> If that just confused you, it's okay, I'm insane.


	8. Allegretto con Fuoco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt and Sothis have a conversation.

The first orchestra rehearsal after the mock battle was interesting. Half of the students were somber, aware that they’d pushed Professor Eisner to effectively mutiny against the church, the other half terrified because they remembered what she’d looked like coming for them on the field of battle. Dimitri was curled behind his stand as if he didn’t want to be noticed - it was actually from a hangover but only the boys knew that - and Ferdinand - Byleth’s first victim on the field of battle - kept scooting his chair closer to where Dedue stood, as if the Duscari man would save him should the professor attack. Edelgard was aware of what the boys had discussed in Dimitri’s room, but thought she had a handle on it.

  
Professor Eisner entered, and gave the ensemble a solemn nod. “Good afternoon. Let us warm up. I would like you to play the Concert Bb scale, in whole notes. Pay attention to intonation, and listen to your neighbors carefully.”

  
Her hands danced in the pattern of a conductor. “One . . . two . . . One, two, ready, play.”

  
The first note was awful. Neither Marianne nor Bernadetta played, Lorenz and Ashe were far too high, and Sylvain’s pitch was completely off. Edelgard jerked down her horn and turned to berate the young man, but before she could, Professor Eisner cut off the ensemble. She made a graceful Arcane gesture, and said pointedly to the young Adrestian princess, “Silence.”

  
When Edelgard opened her mouth to request an explanation for a teacher using a spell in the middle of class, no sound passed her lips. She formed the sounds with her lips, could feel her vocal chords vibrate in her throat, but not one word projected into the room. Half terrified, she stared into the professor’s eyes.

  
“Your Highness,” she entoned formally, “Are you the teacher of this ensemble?”

  
Edelgard had no choice. She shook her head.

  
“Are you trained in any instrument other than trumpet?”

  
Again, a shaken head.

  
“Then kindly allow me to teach this group of young people. And Alois.”

  
Claude and Felix snorted from the front, and the gentleman in question huffed. Edelgard nodded.

“Speak.”

  
Edelgard didn’t feel any different, but she knew the spell was gone. She was livid, but at the same time she remembered how this woman had faced down Archbishop Rhea just to get a promise that the other professors would support how she taught the ensemble. There was something completely admirable in that. Perhaps . . . perhaps, she thought, her anger deflating, perhaps she needed to listen to this woman and learn from her. If her plan to overthrow the church and free Fodlan from Seiros was to succeed, she might need to take a page or two out of this woman’s book. “My apologies, Professor.”

  
“Good,” Byleth murmured, “Now, let us address our issues with pitch.”

* * *

Sothis was jubilant as she floated away from Byleth. She had discovered that while she was anchored to the young woman, she could travel some distance away easily. She liked to leave Byleth to her work and go visit Jeralt when he wasn’t out on a mission. She was quite taken with her host’s father. He reminded her of someone, but she wasn’t sure who. Like many of her memories, it just floated outside of her grasp though the distinct impression was there. She floated into his office, and luckily for her, he was both present and working quietly at his desk. She sighed. “I know it disconcerts Byleth that I have a fancy for you.”

  
He looked up, frowning. Then he shook his head. Sothis floated down and set her feet to the ground. She tread lightly to his side, and leaned on his desk, looking over the papers there. She could not read the language of them, but had to admit that Jeralt Eisner had prettier handwriting then his face suggested. “I love Byleth, but I wish I could talk to someone else. You. Rhea. Seteth. Even Claude or Edelgard would be preferable to being locked inside Byleth’s mind and hers alone. Hells, I’d even take Ferdinand.”

  
He frowned again, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. She’d observed him many times in the last three weeks, and realized that was his one nervous tell. On the battle field the day before, he’d been chewing it incessantly to the point of bloodying it. The latent, ultra-feminine part of her had yearned to kiss away the little hurt he’d caused himself. And then do other things, but goddess knew she was never going to tell Byleth that. She was well aware that the young woman whose mind she shared would not appreciate that information in the least. She sighed. “But I’m stuck with only Byleth able to see me or hear me.”

  
With an inquisitive tilt, she reached out and touched his cheek again. He froze. His cheek was warm, stubbled, and felt so good against the skin of her palm. She loved a man with stubble. She didn’t move her hand, deciding that she wanted a good long touch this time. Jeralt turned, and looked her right in the eye. He didn’t move, only stared down into her eyes, and Sothis realized something. “You can see me.”

  
“And hear you,” Jeralt said. “Ever since yesterday.”

  
Sothis snatched her hand back, and he blinked and looked around. “Where did you go?”

  
Understanding dawned, and she grabbed his arm. “You heard me, just now?”

  
“So, you’re the reason Byleth has been acting strangely. Who are you?” he asked, amazingly calm for a man that had apparently discovered an ability to see . . . whatever she was.

  
“I want you to answer my question,” she continued imperiously. “Did you hear me before I touched you?”

  
He snorted. “Sweetheart, you’re not the boss of me.”

  
Something in that thrilled Sothis to her very core. Another vague knowing came over her - very few had tried to challenge her, but those that did had been her favorites. “Then you’re not getting my name.”

  
Challenge lit in his eyes. He reached forward, and grasped one of her braids. At first she thought he was unsuccessful - one point for being a ghost - but then she felt a gentle tug. She followed it forward so that she was incredibly close to his face. Her stomach gave a little flop. It had been a long time since she was this close to a man’s face. “I’m going to ask one more time,” he murmured, his breath fanning over her face, “Who are you?”

  
“Maybe I’ll trade you,” she whispered low. “A kiss for my name.”

  
He reared back. “You’re a child! What are you, twelve?!”

  
She stomped her foot. “I am not a child!” Another memory flitted through her mind. “I am the Mother of Dragons and I insist that you answer my question!”

  
Jeralt blinked. “Still not answering anything until I have an actual name.” Of course, privately, Jeralt acknowledged that she was at least an older teen. It was hard to pinpoint an age because of her stature and decidedly boyish figure, but the only thing she was mother of was probably a couple of cats.

  
The mystery woman stomped her foot. “Ugh!” But the look she gave him from beneath her lashes was coy and admiring. “Fine. My name is Sothis.”

  
That stopped Jeralt in his fucking tracks. “You’re not a goddess.”

  
It was her turn to blink. “I never said I was.”

  
He said the only thing he could think of. “Fuck. Just . . . fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHENANIGANS.


	9. Prelude Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth and Byleth declare a ceasefire.

A month passed in relative peace. Byleth was making great strides with all of her students, and Jeralt was resolutely keeping it from her that he was being visited by an amnesiac woman who he was pretty sure was the second coming of the Progenitor God. Sothis was keeping it from Byleth that Jeralt could see her and that she’d solicited a kiss from him, and Seteth was resolutely avoiding Byleth because the last three times he’d been in the same room his eyes had gone to her “rack” as Flayn had so indelicately put it. Claude and Dimitri were hard at work trying to figure out why the Archbishop was so determined to keep Byleth around while Edelgard was considering Byleth as a person.  


In all, it was a train wreck waiting to happen.

  
In the meantime, however, the orchestra was improving a great deal. She discovered that Sylvain was a quick student and natural talent on the trombone. Marianne and Bernadetta were still terrified of her, but they slowly began to relax as the month wore on. Felix was as intense as ever, but she didn’t miss the appraising looks he sent her way. The other students ran the gamut from either extreme - terrified or fascinated.  


Life had hit a rhythm that Byleth could live with, and so it was most unusual the day she walked into the dining hall to find the Golden Deer sitting at one of the long tables, nursing tankards of ale - a treat usually given out to students when they completed a mission as she was told. “I see you have returned. Victorious Claude?”

  
He gave her a tired smile. Hilda was curled into his side, and Sothis clucked. “Poor child is exhausted. And very comfortable with Claude.”

  
Byleth ignored the girl floating to her side, and instead patted Hilda’s shoulder. “It looks like you guys had a hard battle of it. You are released from lessons tomorrow.”

  
There was a weak cheer as she walked away, but someone caught her eye. Edelgard was staring at them from her seat across the hall. Byleth nodded to the younger woman, and received an acknowledgement in return. Edelgard had been somewhat cool towards her since the Silence incident, but she couldn’t blame the princess. She had sideways assaulted her, even if it had been ultimately harmless.

  
A sigh from Sothis brought her attention over to her side, and then onwards to where her father had entered the dining hall. Usually he ate with the knights, but she caught him gesturing to her. She walked over, and he smiled down to her. It was a small smile, but Byleth was used to it. Her father had never been particularly demonstrative, not like Claude or Sylvain or Caspar. Or Alois. “Good evening, Father.”

  
“Good evening, little one.”

  
Byleth’s brows rose. He hadn’t called her little one for years. “Would you like to dine with me?” she asked.

  
“Of course,” he murmured.

  
They retrieved their food, and took seats at the teacher’s table. “So, my child, how goes the orchestra?”

  
“It goes well,” she replied. “Were you out with the Golden Deer?”

  
“Yes. They acquitted themselves well.”

  
They ate in silence, finishing quickly. They were used to eating quickly as mercenaries, and neither one wanted to hang out too long once they saw Alois enter. Alois was a good soul, but Jeralt was pretty sure that Rhea was using him as a spy. They bused their dishes to the appropriate bin and made haste for the doors.

  
“Um, Professor? Captain?”

  
The two turned, finding little Flayn right behind them. She was smiling weakly, and staring fearfully into the darkened doorway. The sun had set moments ago, but night had fallen with all the grace of a giant on a drunken bender. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “But . . . I thought I saw someone sneaking around the monastery last night. Could you escort me to my room?”

  
“Did you tell Seteth what you saw?” Jeralt asked immediately.

  
She nodded. “But I’m still scared.”

  
Father and daughter shared a look. “Alright,” Byleth answered. “Lead the way.”

  
She gave them a bright smile, and kept up good natured chatter the entire way up to one of the residential towers. Byleth noticed that Sothis had stayed out more than usual, floating along at Jeralt’s side, and she could swear that her father was giving the spirit the side-eye. “What do you think?”

  
Byleth - who had not been paying attention - floundered, but Jeralt smoothly answered, “I like roses.”

  
All three young women - well, the young woman, dragon maid, and amnesiac goddess - in attendance turned and gave him an incredulous look. “What? Roses are pretty.”

  
Flayn vibrated with joy. “I love roses too! Oh, I wish you were my father! Or maybe grandfather!”

  
Jeralt laughed. “Well, the only way for that to happen is for Byleth to marry Seteth, and then I could be your Father-in-Law.”

  
The mention of Seteth caused Byleth to snarl. “I don’t even like him.” When she saw Flayn’s wounded face, she apologized. “Sorry, but he did throw me to the wolves.”

  
Flayn shrugged. “Oh, you don’t like him because of that. That’s understandable.”

As they ascended the last flight of stairs, Byleth heard a melody floating through the air. The tinkling of piano ivories was not loud, but it was enough to perk her interest. Flayn stopped and whispered, “If you stay quiet, you’ll be in for a treat.”

  
Jeralt and Byleth shared a look, but did as Flayn bid. The girl quietly opened the door, and slipped inside, beckoning them to follow. The inside of their apartments was cozy and decorated modestly. The wood paneled walls were a neutral brown that served to lighten the space, and the floors were covered with plush carpet. A roaring fire lit the room with help from soft gas light, but in one corner stood a grand piano. Seteth sat at it, his eyes closed as his fingers flew across the keyboard. The music was haunting, beautiful. He played with all the emotion Lysithea lacked and so much more.

  
Flayn, grinning like a maniac, grabbed Jeralt’s hand and led him to a padded chair in front of the fire. He gave her a small grin, catching on to what the young woman was doing. Byleth followed, but her eyes stayed riveted on the man at the piano and after receiving her cup of tea, she returned to the piano. Flayn played the perfect silent little hostess, passing out tea and small bites of chocolate that apparently Seteth kept for after dinner treats. Jeralt sipped his tea, and admired the music as well. While he’d never been as musical as his darling Maria or Byleth, he could appreciate a well-done piece of music. He recognized the song, and yet didn’t. It had the tune of Saint Cichol’s Hymn, but something was different . . . Maybe the harmony? He didn’t know, but he’d just enjoy the listening experience.

  
That was, until Seteth slammed both hands onto the ivory keys with a cacophonous vengeance.

* * *

Seteth had retreated to his apartments quickly after dinner, unsettled with the reports he was seeing out of Faerghus. The Western Church was feeling frisky, and they’d have to be dealt with soon. He didn’t like it, and though he would defend the Central Church to the death, the only reason he had any fear of the Western Church breaking free or getting out of line was because of the danger to himself and Flayn. As long as Rhea was the ultimate authority in Fódlan, they were safe. He sometimes had doubts about his sister’s methods, but he had higher priorities than his own comfort.

  
So he retreated to the one thing he could partake of in his personal sanctuary that helped bring him peace - music. If it were light out he would have gone fishing to feel close to Brigid, but music was another thing that brought solace. While Maria had been very out going and a lover of the outdoors, he’d much preferred more sedate pursuits. He and Indech had loved music, and often entertained the other manaketes with songs and dancing at dinner around the bonfires of their home in Zanado. He had launched into the song now know as Saint Cichol’s Hymn, but had been written so long ago for his wife. He lost himself, and didn’t return to reality until he scented something in the room with him.

  
At first, all he’d smelled was Flayn over the wood smoke of the fire. Manakete senses were heightened, so he’d known the moment she’d entered the room. He was too close to the piano and playing too loudly to hear her, but the sweet scent of her skin cream floated in the air. It was only moments before the scent of familiar male wafted to him as well. He was about to ask why Jeralt was in his apartments when another feminine scent wafted to his nostrils. Fertile female mixed with leather and wool.

  
Without an conscious thought, he slammed his hands on the keys, his eyes flying open to look into the wide baby blues of one Byleth Eisner. “Professor!” he squawked, completely surprised to find her not only in his apartments, but standing next to his piano, her hands resting on the lid.

  
She reared back, surprised at his outburst. “Sir Seteth!”

  
“I - what - Flayn!”

  
His wayward daughter just grinned from the settee. She was pouring Jeralt another cup of tea, as the older man watched the couple at the other end of the room with a gimlet stare. “Yes, brother? I hope you don’t mind that I invited Captain Eisner and Professor Eisner over for tea.”

  
“If that’s a problem, we’ll leave,” Jeralt said, his baritone voice a dark rumble.

  
“For someone who hates music,” Byleth said softly, “you play beautifully.”

  
Seteth had been about to take up Jeralt’s invitation of an out, but Byleth’s murmur stopped him. He turned to her, and stared. “Thank you.”

  
“I’ve never heard that song before,” she said, “what was it?”

  
“You’ve . . . you’ve never heard it before?” he asked. “It’s Saint Cichol’s Hymn.”

  
“Father . . . raised me outside of the Church,” she admitted. “She looked down to the keys. And I didn’t mean to interrupt your playing.”

  
“You . . . No need to apologize.” Seteth and Byleth stared at each other some more.

  
Jeralt snorted. “What she means to say is to please continue so that she can learn the melody without having to ask. My daughter is a magpie of melodies, but she is still pissed off at you.”

  
Byleth had the grace to wince, and Seteth cringed too. “I . . . I am sorry. I should have at least had the grace to warn you about the orchestra situation.”

  
She sighed and shook her head. “Honestly, after a month with them . . . I cannot blame you.” She gestured to the piano bench. “May I?”

  
It took him a moment to understand what she was asking, but he finally caught on. “Oh! Yes.” He scooted down, and they both fit comfortably. “You know how to play?”

  
She nodded, placing her hands expertly upon the keys. “I have had a chance to practice now that we are not moving around.”

  
He gestured to the keys. “Ah, the hymn is in Ionian, but the version I was playing was in Dorian.”

  
“I see,” she murmured as she reset her hands slightly.

  
“Call and response?” he asked.

  
“Please.”

  
And they began to play.

  
From their seats, Flayn and Jeralt listened with pleasure to the duet. Soon Byleth had learned the melody, and was working on learning the harmony. Flayn was excitedly making plans to continue throwing her father at Byleth, but Jeralt was not so sure that he wanted his daughter anywhere near Rhea’s second. Seteth was still an unknown. He’d not been able to find anything out about Seteth before the man appeared almost twenty years ago. He had to be at least forty, based on when he was called to the monastery, but the man did not look a day over thirty and had a sister that had to be in her late teens at most. He glanced up at the young woman perched on his chair’s arm.

  
Sothis was watching the pair at the piano like a hawk, and Jeralt swore that she had tears in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now that I've burned through my build up, this is probably only going to get updated weekly.


End file.
